'Now that's horribly unkind of you!' protested the other. 'You might have spared me this evening. But unfortunately it's quite true, Miss Milvain. I point the way, but I haven't been able to travel it myself. You mustn't think I have never succeeded in getting things published; but I can't keep it up as a profession.
Your brother is the successful man. A marvellous facility! I envy him. Few men at present writing have such talent.'
'Please don't make him more conceited than he naturally is,'
interposed Dora.
'What news of Biffen?' asked Jasper, presently.
'He says he shall finish "Mr Bailey, Grocer," in about a month.
He read me one of the later chapters the other night. It's really very fine; most remarkable writing, it seems to me. It will be scandalous if he can't get it published; it will, indeed.'
'I do hope he may!' said Dora, laughing. 'I have heard so much of "Mr Bailey," that it will be a great disappointment if I am never to read it.'
'I'm afraid it would give you very little pleasure,' Whelpdale replied, hesitatingly. 'The matter is so very gross.'
'And the hero grocer!' shouted Jasper, mirthfully. 'Oh, but it's quite decent; only rather depressing. The decently ignoble--or, the ignobly decent? Which is Biffen's formula? I saw him a week ago, and he looked hungrier than ever.'
'Ah, but poor Reardon! I passed him at King's Cross not long ago.
He didn't see me--walks with his eyes on the ground always--and Ihadn't the courage to stop him. He's the ghost of his old self He can't live long.'
Dora and her brother exchanged a glance. It was a long time since Jasper had spoken to his sisters about the Reardons; nowadays he seldom heard either of husband or wife.
The conversation that went on was so agreeable to Whelpdale, that he lost consciousness of time. It was past eleven o'clock when Jasper felt obliged to remind him.
'Dora, I think I must be taking you home.'
The visitor at once made ready for departure, and his leave-taking was as respectful as his entrance had been. Though he might not say what he thought, there was very legible upon his countenance a hope that he would again be privileged to meet Miss Dora Milvain.
'Not a bad fellow, in his way,' said Jasper, when Dora and he were alone again.
'Not at all.'
She had heard the story of Whelpdale's hapless wooing half a year ago, and her recollection of it explained the smile with which she spoke.
'Never get on, I'm afraid,' Jasper pursued. 'He has his allowance of twenty pounds a year, and makes perhaps fifty or sixty more.
If I were in his position, I should go in for some kind of regular business; he has people who could help him. Good-natured fellow; but what's the use of that if you've no money?'
They set out together, and walked to the girls' lodgings. Dora was about to use her latch-key, but Jasper checked her. 'No.
There's a light in the kitchen still; better knock, as we're so late.'
'But why?'
'Never mind; do as I tell you.'
The landlady admitted them, and Jasper spoke a word or two with her, explaining that he would wait until his elder sister's return; the darkness of the second-floor windows had shown that Maud was not yet back.
'What strange fancies you have!' remarked Dora, when they were upstairs.
'So have people in general, unfortunately.'
A letter lay on the table. It was addressed to Maud, and Dora recognised the handwriting as that of a Wattleborough friend.
'There must be some news here,' she said. 'Mrs Haynes wouldn't write unless she had something special to say.
Just upon midnight, a cab drew up before the house. Dora ran down to open the door to her sister, who came in with very bright eyes and more colour than usual on her cheeks.
'How late for you to be here!' she exclaimed, on entering the sitting-room and seeing Jasper.
'I shouldn't have felt comfortable till I knew that you were back all right.'
'What fear was there?'
She threw off her wraps, laughing.
'Well, have you enjoyed yourself?'
'Oh yes!' she replied, carelessly. 'This letter for me? What has Mrs Haynes got to say, I wonder?'
She opened the envelope, and began to glance hurriedly over the sheet of paper. Then her face changed.
'What do you think? Mr Yule is dead!'
Dora uttered an exclamation; Jasper displayed the keenest interest.
'He died yesterday--no, it would be the day before yesterday. He had a fit of some kind at a public meeting, was taken to the hospital because it was nearest, and died in a few hours. So that has come, at last! Now what'll be the result of it, I wonder?'
'When shall you be seeing Marian?' asked her brother.
'She might come to-morrow evening.'
'But won't she go to the funeral?' suggested Dora.
'Perhaps; there's no saying. I suppose her father will, at all events. The day before yesterday? Then the funeral will be on Saturday, I should think.'
'Ought I to write to Marian?' asked Dora.
'No; I wouldn't,' was Jasper's reply. 'Better wait till she lets you hear. That's sure to be soon. She may have gone to Wattleborough this afternoon, or be going to-morrow morning.'
The letter from Mrs Haynes was passed from hand to hand.
'Everybody feels sure,' it said, 'that a great deal of his money will be left for public purposes. The ground for the park being already purchased, he is sure to have made provision for carrying out his plans connected with it. But I hope your friends in London may benefit.'
It was some time before Jasper could put an end to the speculative conversation and betake himself homewards. And even on getting back to his lodgings he was little disposed to go to bed. This event of John Yule's death had been constantly in his mind, but there was always a fear that it might not happen for long enough; the sudden announcement excited him almost as much as if he were a relative of the deceased.
'Confound his public purposes!' was the thought upon which he at length slept.